Beg
by Tien Riu
Summary: What could make Severus Snape beg? References to topics some would consider squicky or kinky. Slash. AU. PWP - except without any actual sex. Oh - and HP/SS.
1. Container Issues

Beg

By Tien Riu

tienriu@yahoo.com.au

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**Author's Note**: This has actually been up at skyehawke dot com :: archives for quite some time – and is really an experiment in writing higher rated slash.  I'm slowly working my writing style up to a point where I can get the characters to have sex.    

"**Beg**" is the prequel to "**Obliviate**" – which I've rated at skyehawke's version of NC-17 (X [V,S]) and thus will not be posted at FF.net.  It's sequel – "**Somewhat Miscalculated**" won't be posted at FF.net till after I've finished it – however, if anybody's interested, you can see the first part at skyehawke archives.  You can find the link to my author page there in my profile.

I still don't know **Seeker** – but despite that fact, I am going to say that this story is completely and utterly inspired by **Seeker**'s work.  Go – read it (try Inkstained Fingers).  Much better than anything of mine.

**Credits**: JK Rowlings'.  Also, I suspect, given the amount of slash fiction I've read, I probably did get inspiration from many other incredible writers.  If I did, unintentionally, copy something from somebody – please email me and I'll remove it/apologise formally/include the actual name in this section.

**Warnings**: Severus Snape/Harry Potter.  Situations revolving around Severus Snape begging.  PWP.  AU.  Do I need to go on?

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Part One: Container Issues

After one of the numerous strategy sessions that dotted their last year at Hogwarts, Ron dragged Harry into a deserted classroom along with several bottles of Kipsucker's Moonshine.  They had gotten drunk, leaning against the wall and each other (and by the end of the night, the floor).  One of the conversations that had eventuated – as these things do when one is dead-set on getting from vertical to horizontal as quickly as possible – went as follows:

_      " – wonder if it hurts?"  _

_Harry blinked, "What hurts?"_

_Ron had paused to swallow then started at Harry, "What?"_

_   "What?"  Harry had snickered, then paused to think, "You said something hurts – and I said 'what' and then you said –"_

_   "Oh right."  Ron frowned, taking a gulp from the bottle before brightening, "Oh yeah – you think that stick up Snape's arse hurts?"_

_   "Stick?"  _

_   "Yeah – the way he acts, it's got to be a stick or severe constipation -!"  _

_    For some reason, it had seemed funny at the time.  _

_   "Sick –"_

_   "True though."_

_   "Yeah."_

_They had sat there in silence for a while before Ron – following a train of thought that only made sense to him and his bottle of Moonshine – spoke again._

_   "Probably likes it – greasy stiff.  .  .  You think he ever begged for it?"  _

_   "What?"_

_   "What?"_

_They both laughed; Harry had taken another gulp then frowned, "What'cha think it'd take to make Snape beg?"_

      The question floated through Harry's mind as he sat in Professor Dumbledore's office and wondered why he kept letting the man _do _this to him.

    He was eighteen after all – a fully trained wizard.  With no obligation to Hogwarts other than as a member of the alumni.  _Obligation to Professor Dumbledore and the faculty – that's another thing completely._  

    _Argh._  Harry gave into temptation and allowed his head to sink into his hands.  _Argh.  Argh.  Argh._

   "Were there any other way, Harry, I would not ask this of you."  Professor Dumbledore said, "But – the importance –"  

   "I know."  Harry said, voice slightly muffled, "I know.  I just –"  he looked up, "Isn't there some – well, _other_ way? Than this – I mean – it's –"  he stopped, searching for the right words, "It's _Professor Snape_ sir!"

    "Indeed, Harry."  Professor Dumbledore had said solemnly, "Which is why I make this request of you."  

And all of a sudden, Harry had felt ashamed rather than horrified.

      The problem wasn't that Harry had defeated Voldemort – it was what had happened _after_.  The moment when the Killing Curse had bounced off Harry and turned Voldemort into a fairly large pile of dust to be precise.

    Not that Harry remembered the moment very well.  Ron said that the sound of fifty three and three quarters (Nott, he had been told) worth of Death Eater magic slamming into him had been rather like having one's head stuck inside a very large pot that was being repeatedly bounced up and down.  All Harry remembered was _feeling_ as if _he_ had been repeatedly bounced up and down.

    Thus, Harry had to assume that sometime during that moment, along with the powers of the other fifty-two (and three quarters) Death Eaters, he had absorbed Severus Snape's magic.

    Come to think of it, it might explain  how he passed his Potions NEWTS.

      A year had passed since then with various researchers looking into a way for the purloined magic sitting in Harry to be returned to innocent Death Eaters.  Or _the _innocent Death Eater: Severus Snape.

    Several methods had already been discovered – all of which had unfortunate side effects (that is, potentially, the Death Eater in question might end up brain-dead or comatose).  Harry had gotten use to being _very_ careful at how he swished and flicked (because having half of Stonehenge zooming towards your head is _bad_ first thing in the morning).

    And then Professor Dumbledore had uncovered an old rite for transference of magical powers deep in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library.  A _sexual_ rite for magical transference. 

    One that involved – well, _sex_.

      Lots of sex.  With moaning.  And groaning and sweat.  And the exchange of bodily fluids.  Or – to be _very precise (as Professor Dumbledore had been) – Harry _putting _bodily fluids (of a certain sort) into Severus Snape.  And Severus Snape – well, _not_ loosing certain bodily fluids.  For a period of time directly proportional to the amount of magical powers he was transferring.    _

      Professor Dumbledore had called it a 'container issue'.  And then waited for Harry to stop twitching mentally over _that_ little gem.


	2. Practicality

Part Two: Practicality

      Severus Snape was a practical man.  There were things you could change (or thought you could change – though nineteen years teaching children the delicate art of potions had given him some _views_ on this) and things you couldn't.  

      His parents had spent most of his childhood trying one potion after another on him in an attempt to increase his magical potential.  He had spent most of those same years learning how to use the skills he _had_ to their utmost potential.  Who cared if he couldn't shine in the traditionally powerful arts of Transfigurations and Charms when he could shine in Potions, Arithmancy and Astronomy? 

    Well, his parents and most of Hogwarts – but he had learned not to care.  And really, wasn't that all that mattered?

    His peers in Slytherin had spent a good proportion of their time at Hogwarts attempting to attract girls into their beds.  Severus, the inheritor of the Snape nose, Snape hair and Milton body – an awkward combination at best – hadn't needed more than one (alright seven) derisive looks to realise that girls, attraction and his bed would never be used in the same sentence except in the negative.  Which saved him some time at a later date when he realised he'd rather not have girls in his bed (thank you very much).  

    And the male homosexual population at Hogwarts was such that he did get laid – several times – before graduation.  Which proved that practicality (or at least desperation on his partners' parts) worked just as well as any modicum of romance and idealism.

      Severus was a practical man – he prided himself on knowing when to accept and adapt to circumstances beyond his control.  

    When the war ended and the remaining Death Eaters (him included if only by default since this time his use as a spy had been well and truly destroyed care of the Daily Prophet) were discovered to have lost all their magical abilities, Severus had known what would come.  After all, the Ministry would have to be made entirely of fools if they funded research into returning the magical powers of the Death Eaters.  Especially as negative-muggles were easier to control and far more susceptible to spells than muggles. 

    With Fudge a soulless creature somewhere in St Mungos, and Minister Mildweather at the head of the Ministry, Severus had accepted the inevitable.

      His letter of resignation had been on the Headmaster's desk an hour after he left (because nineteen years working for Albus Dumbledore had taught Severus several things).  A day later, Severus had been safely installed in Snape Manor's sole remaining habitable room and organising the last of his family's House Elves into making the rest of the crumbling structure safe for a negative-muggle. 

      It wasn't the life he would have envisioned for himself.  But then, neither had becoming a spy or fighting in a war.  Or come to think of it, growing old with three House Elves and a frog.  

    And if he woke in the mornings just as the grey wintry sunlight streamed through the cracked glass of the windows _just so_ and remembered that at this time, last year, he had woken up at this time to collect mint touched by the equinox moon –

     Well, it was becoming easier to roll over and sleep for several more hours.

     He missed – 

     But dwelling on the impossible was not practical.  So – he kept rolling over, because eventually he would stop mentally cataloguing ingredients every time he stepped outside.  And eventually, he would stop gesturing for quill and parchment.  And eventually, he might even stop thinking of new research he finally had time to conduct.  Eventually, Severus knew, he would stop waking up early.

      A year passed, and Severus not so much resigned himself as _adapted_ to growing old with three House Elves and the frog that somehow kept getting into his room.  It wasn't much of a life, but it was better than being dead – or in a muggle jail, or following Henrik and Jenny Kensington around on a leash (as was the fate of Nott).

      Then, one day – sometime in June, Severus woke up and found Harry Potter waiting on the doorstep.

     An hour later, an owl nearly knocked him out as it landed and delivered a letter from Albus Dumbledore – who, as it turned out, had a very keen sense of irony.


	3. For Love Of

Part Three: For Love of 

      "I would have been here sooner, Professor except Hermione was having trouble with the calculations."  Potter was saying earnestly.

Severus drank from the cup, and placed it back on its saucer – neither trembled he noted, "Indeed.  And I would be interested why?"  he said finally.

Potter paused, looking surprised, "It – well – I – we thought you'd want to get your magic back, sir."

   "Indeed."  He put the saucer and cup back onto the table and frowned at the Boy Who Lived (and Defeated Voldemort and Grew Into a Man – or so the Daily Prophet reported), "According to the results published by the Ministry, all known methods result in death, comatose patients at St Mungos or other results I would rather not experience."

And then Potter blushed.

    Which Severus had _not_ been expecting.  

    And that was the moment one of the Hogwarts school owls bounced off Severus' head as it rounded the tight corner between the informal sitting room and the corner herb garden currently masquerading as a small forest.

      It was some time later.

    "So –"  Severus said finally, "Albus expects me to – to let you draw these symbols all over me."

     "Yes sir."

   "While we have – sex?"  even his wit and sarcasm failed him at this point.

   "Well, technically, it'd be rather – well, one–sided."  Potter said, "Because – well, you aren't supposed to – because –"  

   "Seven years of education and still unable to form full sentences, Mr Potter?"  he sneered – retreating onto familiar ground.

Potter flushed, looked admirably embarrassed and fixed his gaze firmly onto the ground, "There are spells to stop – you – ah – to stop –"  he stopped, glanced up, down, up again – and the behaviour was fast loosing its entertainment value.

   "To stop me from – reaching fulfilment? Orgasm? Ejaculating?"  Severus offered in as clinically a voice as he could manage, "Should I start listing the lesser known euphemisms?"

Potter's head jerked up and the green eyes narrowed, "How about to make sure you're left humping the bed?"  he snapped – though his face was still bright red, "This isn't any easier for me you know."  
   "Evidently."  Severus retorted, leaning back into the chair (and releasing a cloud of dust – the House Elves had yet to reach this particular room it seemed), "And then what?"

   "What?"

   "The rite, Potter.  What happens after you – 'leave me humping the bed', as you so quaintly put it?"

Which was when Potter smirked, "Well, then you – keep humping – for –"  and he pulled out a rather crumpled scroll from his robes pocket and glanced at the numbers listed there, " – sixteen hours.  According to Hermione's calculations."

   "Sixteen hours?"  _Sixteen hours?!_ Which was the precise moment Severus realised that Harry Potter was actually serious about conducting a _sexual_ rite in an attempt to give him back his magic.  

    A sexual rite.  

    With him.

    And – well, it had been a rather long time.  Wars, spying and teaching not being conducive to one's social life – even if Severus was the sort to manage one.

    Severus quelled the urge to shift in the chair (and not just because too much untoward action might make it collapse).  And then hoped that Potter wouldn't notice the – euphemism – he had just gained.  _Bloody hell._  He hadn't even realised he had a kink for – well, whatever it was Potter was suggesting.  Then again – he hadn't really had enough partners _to_ develop a kink but still -

   "The transfer of magic is directionally proportional to the time –humping the bed."  Potter said, jerking Severus' attention back - at least he had managed to stop smirking or Severus would have found a way to hex him, "Albus suggested we repeated the rite several times to make sure it worked.  Wasted opportunities and all that."

   "Wasted opportunities –"  Severus' voice was a trifle hoarse.

   "Well – you wouldn't want to be under that spell for sixteen hours then find the transfer hadn't worked right?"  Potter said – Severus stared suspiciously at the man; the last had sounded _far_ too cheerful.  

    Severus cleared his throat.  He prided himself on being a practical –

    "_Sixteen hours_?"

    "To give you back your full powers.  That's what Hermione calculated."  

    - on being a practical man.

    "And when should this – miraculous rite take place?"  

Potter shrugged, "Why not now?"

   "Now?"  

    He prided himself on being able to adapt to the unchangeable.

    Potter grinned as he stood up, and leaned down till his face was _far_ too close to Severus', "Well – why not?"  

   "_Why not_?"  that last was a squeak – and if Severus had been thinking rationally, he would have been extremely embarrassed (and if he had his powers, he would have – but wasn't that the source of the problem?)

   "Really, Professor, your – infamous wit seems to have left you."  Potter murmured, the grin growing wider, "I would have thought it would be obvious _why not _now."  And then there was a warm hand pressing down into his groin – and the moan escaped him without his consent, "After all, why waste a good opportunity?"  

    "Sixteen _hours_?"  

   "Besides – I've always wanted to know,"  and now, had that hand not been doing things that really, no ex-student should ever do to an ex-professor, Severus would have found a way to take many, many, _many_ points from Gryffindor, " – exactly what it would take to make you _beg_."

    The boy would have made a good Slytherin.  _Or_, Severus thought fuzzily as he lifted his hips and tried to grind against the hand doing things that were very – _very_ – nice, _A sex worker.  Yes – definitely a sex worker –_

    And then, he only had one stray thought for the structural stability of the chair – though, if it collapsed beneath them, at least they would be horizontal.  

      Severus Snape was a very practical man.  If one could get sex _and_ one's magical powers back – one should take the opportunity.

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**Author's Note**: The first part of the sequel to "**Beg**", "**Somewhat Miscalculated**" can be found at skyehawke archives (check the link in my profile page) – it probably won't be posted up at FF.net till after it's completed.  And if any of you are interested in what happens to Lucius Malfoy when he loses the war and his magical powers, the sequel to "Beg and "Somewhat Miscalculated", "**Obliviate**" can also be found at skyehawke archives (it will never be posted at FF.net as the rating is too high).  

Enjoy!

Yours,

TR


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